


The Shop Around the Corner

by EAbbene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, You've Got Mail (1998)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29446140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EAbbene/pseuds/EAbbene
Summary: Running the flower shop that's been in her family for hundreds of years just got harder for Pansy Parkinson when Neville Longbottom, darling of the wizarding world and thorn in her side, opens a branch of his Herbology Empire just down the street.  According to Draco, there's only one thing to do, and that's 'go to the mattresses'.  She's not sure about seduction, but she does understand sabotage.  If that doesn't work, she'll have to be brave and actually make a life for herself instead of doing what's expected.  What she doesn't expect is to fall in love over an anonymous online wizbook letter exchange, the latest Weasley sensation that's sweeping the nation and bringing the wizarding world into the 21st century.  What to do when the one you're falling for is also your enemy?
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Kudos: 13





	1. The Shop Around the Corner

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on both the Jimmy Stewart and Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan versions of the Shop around the Corner and You've Got Mail. I've borrowed heavily from the dialogue. I've had most of this written up for a while, so thought it would be a nice little Valentine's/Snowstorm Treat. I'll post the rest in the next few days.

He was pressing her down onto the desk, a quill tip pressed into her arm and another tickled her wrist. His hot mouth was pressed to her neck, his tongue teasing at her pulse before trailing up to circle the shell of her ear. His teeth playfully bit at her earlobe while she felt his hand hiking up her skirt. She moaned, half pleasure, half the anticipation of more. His murmur of approval was drowned out by the sound of him slapping her bare ass, now exposed to the cool air before he pressed back against her, his fingers trailing along the outside of her hip before dipping a calloused thumb against her clit. She threw her head back and arched into his touch, glad the desk was supporting her weight. He bit down on her neck as he pumped two fingers into her, his hardness still pressed against her arse. A promise. She was close, she opened her mouth to tell him. His lips trailed along her shoulder before sliding back up, the nip of his teeth soothed by the warm glide of his tongue. She rode his hand, using it to her advantage, her arse pressing against the front of his rough trousers with every rock of her hips. She was nearly there.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Pansy let out a moan, this time of frustration as the warmth of the dream washed away with the sound of her alarm clock. Rolling onto her back, she flung out an arm and managed to tap the snooze button. Glancing at the time, she sighed in frustration. Five more minutes and she wouldn’t have been feeling nearly as unsatisfied. It always seemed to happen this way, where she woke up right before and she woke up unfulfilled. Trying to grasp at the fading dream, she slipped a hand into her pajama bottoms and closed her eyes. 

Fifteen minutes later, she wrinkled her nose at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was being particularly resistant to her usual straightening charms. She sighed and pulled the loose curls into a high pony tail. She had inherited the Selwyn curls from her mother’s side, just like her eyes. They could be lovely, but they also tended to float when she became frazzled or angry, something that made them very indicative of her mood, as well as gave the wearer the look of a Medusa. Something she was extremely conscious of since the first time Draco had mocked them when they were four years old. She had used straightening charms or kept it fairly short most of her life. As if to taunt her, a curl popped out from the others and hovered above the others before settling back down. 

Frowning, she quickly buttoned the bright blouse, tucking it into the black skirt and slipping into a comfortable pair of practical flats. Grabbing her wand, she hurried out the door of her parent’s guesthouse.

The village of Appleby was the place where many of the old families had their Manor homes, and the closest wizarding hub to those who chose not to live in the village proper. Pansy Parkinson had been raised in the sleepy village, and much preferred it to the hustle and bustle of London, or the frequent coming and going in Hogsmeade, the largest wizarding hub outside of London. 

Appleby was old, buildings dating back to before the Romans arrived. Her parent’s looming brick manor wasn’t nearly as old, and the tiny guest house behind it was modern by Wizarding standards. It didn’t even have its own ghost yet. Slipping out the ivy covered cottage, she hurried past the kitchen gardens and out the garden wall, thru the small green door, half hidden by the ivy. 

Pansy liked walking into work. Parkview, the traditional Parkinson Manor home was only a twenty minute walk from the village, the estate right along the road to the village. Across the road and down a short ways was the Bulstrode Manor. Pansy had always been fascinated with Millicent’s family’s Abraxans. Some mornings she would bring an apple or two to share with her favorite of the flying horses, a magnificent black matched pair named Hades and Persephone. Millie ran the family farm now, with her new husband, Hans Schwartz. Just past the Bulstrode farm was the Appleby Arrow’s stadium. 

Early morning practice was already underway, and Pansy hoped they were practicing up for their game against Puddlemere this weekend. If she had to watch that smug ex-Gryffindor Captain win one more League cup, she might just be sick. As if five league championships _and_ a World Cup title weren’t enough for him. Rumor had it that they were going to be losing their seeker next year, so one could always hope the team wouldn’t stay nearly as dominant.

Passing the stadium, she made it to the outskirts of the village, smaller homes lining the street. Most people weren’t awake yet, considering it was barely seven in the morning and the ministry workers who lived here didn’t typically report until nine. Pansy passed the white fenced gardens, appreciating the pretty picture the sunny morning made. The Bigby Potion Pharmacy next to the Wendolyn’s Potion Apothecary Supply marked the delineation between residential and commercial in the small village. Next door was the Outpatient Healing Office, run by the portly Healer Bolton. Across the street was Scrivinshafts, Appleby Branch. There were a few small specialty bookstores, and a coffeehouse along the main street. The small government building that served as more of a meeting place for the town busybodies to meet up and debate what activities would be held during the yearly Apple Days festival (parade, apple picking, picnic and pie eating contest, and a dance- in that unvarying order) and if they should allow the Weasley family to lease a branch of their shop in the village (decidedly not). 

Hurrying past the quidditch supply store, Pansy waved at the proprietor, Miles, her on and off again boyfriend. Right now they were decidedly _off_ and she had seen him walking around with that busty Hufflepuff who ran the Leaky. Good for him. He would never have done any of the things her dream lover did to her this morning. Which was really unfortunate for Abbot. Sometimes Pansy wasn’t certain Miles didn’t play for the _other team_. But her parents did find him a very suitable boyfriend and he always had invites to the best parties and tickets to the Arrows games. 

Her shop was located just off the corner of Main, conveniently next to the best place in town for lunch, Mancino’s. 

“Hey Mannie,” she said slipping through the door to little bistro. 

“Pansy!” he greeted her with a smile. “Taste!” he held up a pastry as she approached the counter. She took a bite and moaned. The older wizard grinned. 

“Heaven,” she pronounced after chewing. “I’m sold. Two please.”

“Of course!” laughed the grey haired chef. 

Grabbing the coffee he already had ready for her in her usual mug, she slipped out the door and hurried over to her shop. Giselle, her seventh year intern for the summer was already there along with her full time employee Mark. Mark was casually using the wizbook while Giselle had already started moving the displays. 

“Good morning,” she said brightly. 

“Good morning,” they chorused, Mark less enthusiastically than Giselle.

“How do the numbers look, Mark?” asked Pansy. She had hired him out of school because he understood how to use the latest wizarding tech. And he was smart enough to teach her, but also super good with numbers.

“Looks good, up from last year again. I think the sidewalk displays that Giselle has been managing have really amped up sales.” Pansy smiled at the tall redhead.

“We will miss you when you go back to Hogwarts,” she said with a sigh. Glancing at the calendar, she frowned. August 25th. Summer was nearly over.

“I will miss being here,” Giselle put in. “Class won’t be nearly as challenging.”

“I’m going to have breakfast in my office. O.W.L me those quarterly numbers Mark,” said Pansy slipping into the small office in the back. She tried not to blush seeing the quill covered desk from her dream. First order of business for the morning, organizing her desk. She stuffed all her quills into an old pot shaped like a frog wearing a crown on its head. Opening her Wizbook, she carefully clicked through the prompts turning it on. 

When George Weasley had started the Wizbook line of Weasley products, Pansy wouldn’t have thought that she of all people would ever use one, let alone own one. After all, it was a basterdized version of Muggle technology that Weasley and Granger had collaborated on to create. Based on muggle computer technology, the WIS, Weasley Internet Service, connected people faster than floo or owl ever could. And, it ran on magic, so unlike muggle technology, was not disrupted by being around magic. 

Pansy hadn’t really thought the wizbook devices would catch on, but muggleborns and half bloods began utilizing them almost immediately. Seeing how useful they could be in her business, Pansy hired muggleborn Mark to show her the ropes and make sure the new technology didn’t leave her business in the dust.

Now, even Pansy knew how to use a wizbook, and she was nearly as expert as her muggleborn employee. An O.W.L. (On-line Wizarding Letter) popped into her in-box. Mark, with the quarterly numbers. She clicked through the spreadsheet, agreeing with Mark’s assessment the sidewalk display boosted business. He had a good eye for the numbers. She appreciated all the numbers work he did from inventory reordering and supplies to the taxes. It freed her up to do the rest of her work. The things she enjoyed.

Glancing at her watch, she started on her second pastry and clicked over to her personal OWLs. Her work account was [Pansy.Blumens.Appleby@wheezely.net](mailto:Pansy.Blumens.Appleby@wheezely.net). Her personal account was a little less professional. [GreenhouseWitch@wheezely.net](mailto:GreenhouseWitch@wheezely.net). She liked that the greenhouse bit fit multiple aspects of her life. 

Her personal email was full of junk as usual. She deleted several ads. She wasn’t planning on buying any new robes from Malkin’s, on sale or otherwise. And she certainly didn’t need penis enlargement potions.

She skipped over the one from Draco ([Draco.Malfoy@Malfoyindustries.com](mailto:Draco.Malfoy@Malfoyindustries.com)). And another from Millie, ([MillieandHans@wheezely.net](mailto:MillieandHans@wheezely.net)). She felt herself smile as her wand hovered over OWL from _him._ She wondered if _he_ could have provided her with a reality of her dream this morning. Taking a sip of her coffee she opened the message, the little hoot sound from her wizbook making her smile even wider.

**Hogsmead152: _Don’t you love Diagon Alley in August? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of freshly sharpened quills if I but knew your name and address. On the other hand, not knowing has its charms too._**

GreenhouseWitch: _I know what you mean. I always feel like I need to buy new shoes as summer is closing. It makes me feel like putting on new clothes and taking a train ride. My friends want to go up to the seaside for a few days next week. I’m working to convince them we need to take the train. For old time’s sake of course. I think it’s a stir crazy that hits all of us, especially those of us without a child for the train. Unless of course you have children. You aren’t married with three children are you?_

Pansy frowned at the screen, wishing she hadn’t pressed the send button. Shaking her head, she hurried out of her small office and off to the greenhouse where she planned to spend most of her day. With her plants.

She had stumbled upon Hogsmead152 and started emailing him after they both commented on an online article in The Prophet-online about some random gardening piece that was clearly written by someone who never bothered to take NEWT level herbology. It had been so full of errors that Pansy hadn’t been able to resist commenting, and Hogsmead152 had backed her up, which had started a personal conversation thread they had eventually decided to move to email. The long forgotten article from eight months ago had evolved into what she secretly thought of as the most meaningful friendship in her life. 

Certainly she had friends… but the nature of slytherin relationships was what you got out of them. Her friendship with her dear friend was based solely on the fact that they enjoyed talking to each other. There was no ulterior motive behind their conversations, no underlying political motive. It was refreshing. Not that she didn’t value her friendships with Draco, Daphne, Millie, and Theo, but… they weren’t the same. 

It had started with mostly conversations about plants and a shared joy for growing things. However, conversation had soon transformed into conversations about favorite books, recent events, and silly nothings. Sometimes she felt she knew him better than anyone else in her life, and then she had days like today when she realized she didn’t know anything about him. He could be married with three kids graduated from Hogwarts.

She headed into the greenhouse where she greeted her plants with a sunny grin. The best part of her day was caring for each individual plant. 

Hours later, she startled when she felt a presence next to her. Looking up from the flutterby bush she was trimming, she saw Draco.

“You never responded to my email,” he accused with his hard grey eyes.

“Since responding would have required I read it…” she shrugged and moved on to the next plant, using her trimmers to gently trim the plant. 

“I know you saw it,” accused Draco.

“Give me the shortened version,” she suggested.

“Astoria and I are having our engagement party on Saturday. I wanted to make sure you were coming.”

“Of course. Didn’t I RSVP weeks ago?”

“No, it must have slipped your mind. How you can remember to water all these plants on that crazy schedule you have but forget simple things like eating, I still don’t understand,” complained Draco, his voice taking on that petulant tone he favored when he was ranting.

“I don’t know what you mean,” protested Pansy as the thought of food prompted her stomach to rumble. Looking back to the sky she noted it was well past noon, likely approaching supper time.

“I rest my case,” laughed Draco, materializing a sandwich from his satchel.

“Thank you solicitor,” she said thankfully, taking a bite of the offered food.

“You seem even more distracted than usual lately, anything I should know about?” asked Draco.

“Oh, just… the usual. I took on another garden commission,” she tried not to sound too excited about the opportunity. 

“That’s great! Mother shows off the garden to anyone who will step off the veranda with her. She loves what you’ve done with the gardens. Was it one of her friends?”

“Of course. I do thank her for the business.”

“You’re brilliant. The work speaks for itself. And I’ll be sure to point out you’re responsible for it if anyone asks at the engagement party on Saturday.”

“Yes, yes, of course I’ll be there,” she shook her head. “I’m not that scattered.”

“Anything else exciting?” asked Draco. He clearly wanted something, he was fishing.

“Oh just spit it out,” she finally snapped, lopping off an errant branch of one of her specialty flowering trees at the same time.

“Did you see the town elders finally approved someone to use the space where Vascepta’s used to be?” asked Draco. Pansy looked up, violet eyes bright with curiosity.

“Oh, so you came to gossip, what’s the big news?”

“Would you prefer the good news or the bad news first?”

“The good news,” sighed Pansy. Of all her friends, Draco could be the biggest drama queen and rather enjoyed stringing others out when he had information.

“Well, the good news is that I think we’re about to experience a bit of a boom in population here. The Gumpkin farm estate finally sold, and that artistic Gryffindor Thomas bought it and has announced plans to turn it into the first planned suburban wizarding neighborhood. We’re talking neighborhood quidditch pitches and a community pool.”

“I thought you said this was supposed to be the good news!” gasped Pansy. “All I’m hearing right now is every Gryffindor from our year is probably going to move into the immediate vicinity!”

“Umm… yeah, Hermione mentioned something about her and Weasley having picked a lot right next to the one Potter picked.”

“Dear Merlin, please tell me you and Tori aren’t going to build a little three bedroom cottage and settle in with the plebes.”

“Mother and father are having a hard enough time adjusting to the new world order, let alone me marrying outside the sacred 28 _and_ moving in next door to the commoners.”

“The Greengrasses _barely_ fall outside your mother and father’s ideal. Their grandmother was French, not a muggle!”

“Could you please inform my mother of that,” sighed Draco. 

“It doesn’t help you’ve taken up those unfortunate pro bono cases with the Ministry.”

“Corporate law is just so dull… I need a few human interest cases to spice things up and make me look good,” joked Draco.

“You just enjoy poking your nose in the ministry business,” accused Pansy.

“Well that goes without saying,” laughed Draco.

“So if that was the good news, dare I ask what the bad news is?”

“Longbottom’s moving back to Longheath.”

“ _Really,_ ” breathed Pansy. “That _is_ interesting. I’m surprised Longbottom’s actually one for moving into the monstrous family country estate. That place has been empty since before he was born!”

“Yes, Augusta Longbottom is a London townhouse matron through and through,” agreed Draco.

“Wait… I thought you said it was bad news.”

“Longbottom’s opening a branch of Dandylions in Appleby.”

“ _What?!_ ” exclaimed Pansy. “He already has branches in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. Why does he need one here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s thinking he wants a shop that is close to his family estate where he plans to establish his largest greenhouses yet.”

“I’m already losing business to his shops that aren’t even here in town,” moaned Pansy. “Surely he doesn’t need to establish his business headquarters on my turf!”

“I suppose you’ll just have to go to the mattresses,” said Draco.

“What does that mean? Can you imagine _me_ seducing _Longbottom?_ ” she demanded making a look of horror.

“What? No! Bloody,” Draco rubbed his face with frustration. “It’s a muggle term… from a movie.”

“Your obsession with muggle cinema again,” she sighed.

“Pans… it means… fight to the death…”

“Ahh… because… I don’t really think Longbottom would go for this,” she gestured to her dirt covered self and messy hair.

“I mean… maybe he has a thing for messy, dirt covered witches with floaty hair,” laughed Draco tweaking her upturned nose. 

“I mean… did you ever see him when he was an auror?” asked Pansy, causing Draco to sputter. “I mean… that uniform… it’s a crime he left.”

“I think you’re just upset he decided to go into the botanical business.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if he had continued to go on those exotic plant expeditions with Lovegood.”

“Maybe he does have a thing for floaty haired witches…”

“Pretty sure he and Lovegood were platonic,” sighed Pansy. “Regardless, he came back an exotic plant expert and now everyone is obsessed with getting their plants from him. And now everyone in Appleby will start going to him. I might as well close my doors now.” She looked around the large greenhouse, full of blooming things. She hadn’t been selling near as many of her cuttings for owl order lately, her standard English stock being looked over in favor of Amazonian blooms from Dandylions. She hadn’t noticed much of a downtick in her plantings as she still cultivated the best traditional English wizarding plantings, but she was sure it was only a matter of time. She could remember how clever Longbottom was back at Hogwarts. Always coming up with ways to improve growing conditions. Always turning up to class with the healthiest specimens of the hardest to grow species. 

“Well…. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But I think you should go to the mattresses! Tori and I are going to use you for our wedding. Surely that counts for something?”

“Of course, and you’ll have the most beautiful blooms for your day,” said Pansy with a sad smile. 

Pansy finished up for the evening long after Draco left, taking the long way home to walk by the large building over on Wisteria Lane. A large sign on the front proclaimed it the future location of Dandylions Appleby. She sighed looking at the logo, a Lion with brightly colored red petals as a mane wearing a suit and sporting a monocle. What a ridiculous logo. 

She hurried home to her little guesthouse after standing across the street staring with dejection for a good ten minutes. Putting the key in the little green door, she sighed entering her small apartments. Kicking off her shoes, she pulled her hair from the high bun, letting it float about her face in a cloud of inky curls, trailing behind her as she walked. Unbuttoning her green blouse with the yellow dots, she headed into the bedroom, tossing the light material into a basket where her house elf would find it tomorrow and undoubtedly moan over the dark streak of dirt that was the result of moving a large potted flutterby bush. 

She stepped out of the circle of her skirt, pulling on a pair of leggings and an oversized Applby Arrows sweatshirt. She looked longingly at her bed but headed back into the kitchen. She should eat, she hadn’t had anything to eat since her abbreviated lunch from Draco. 

Sure enough, there were leftovers warming in the oven, shepherds pie. Thank goodness for Minnie. She sat and ate the leftovers as she turned on her Wizbook. “You’ve got mail” chimed the device as she pulled up her mailbox. She smiled.

**_I agree about needing a train ride this time of year. And no, I don’t have any children for the train. Sometimes I think about what it would be like to go back. The people you were with in school have grown older and changed, but things are still similar. That popular student would still have the enviable clothes, the girl you liked would still prance around in a skirt too short for her own good. I wonder if that’s how people at the ministry feel. If it’s just a larger version of Hogwarts, with more complex politics. My time there I rarely spent behind a desk. It was just after the war so everything was falling back into the proper order. I don’t think it spent more than two or three hours at a time there, and I feel my ministry time was rather unusual. Since so much of the population goes directly from Hogwarts to the Ministry, I wonder if cliques carry over from Hogwarts. Maybe that’s why we constantly seem to be fighting the same wars._ **

Pansy grinned and typed a reply.

_I wouldn’t know if the ministry is the adult version of Hogwarts. I’ve never worked there. It’s interesting to think on if Ministry politics are just the adult manifestations of our childhood ways from Hogwarts. As for if that’s the reason for the series of wars in Wizarding Britain over the last 100 years, I think it’s rather the isolationist policies of a select group of families in wizarding Britain. By constructing a small social circle of elitism, we have perpetuated the belief that certain members of society are entitled to extra benefits. The wealth and status of these families causes them to remain at the top of the social chain. Unfortunately, the only families that could challenge this social structure would have to topple it from inside and they have no desire to participate in rubbing elbows with the social elite, so they remain locked in their ways. Just look at the Sacred 28, their numbers dwindling, but those like Potter and the Weasleys that could participate in Society instead scorn it and allow it to fester in plain sight. Until we see real change in this world, the divisions in society will continue._

Pansy frowned at her analysis of wizarding culture. Pressing send, she washed her plate and watered her houseplants.

**_You have an interesting take on wizarding politics. I suppose they exist outside the Ministry. I see them in the social matrons and the different people that I see day in and day out, how people interact. Muggleborns sticking together and going to Muggle London for the muggle theater while pureblooded friends are left out. It breeds resentment and misunderstanding between our culture and theirs, putting a cultural divide within wizarding culture. Perhaps that is why so many muggleborns marry other muggleborns and purebloods marry purebloods, the shared life experiences, the ease of one another within society._ **

Pansy grinned, seeing the rapid response, she sent her reply as a direct message. Also, she wondered if he was pureblooded as well. That was a rather small circle of wizards. And he didn’t have children, which was a smaller group of pureblooded wizarding men. 

_My most snobbishly pureblooded friend may be the exception to your above rule. He is obsessed with muggle cinema. I don’t know how he and his fiancé (a pureblooded witch which admittedly fits with your theory) got into muggle cinema, but they attend at least weekly._

**_Do you think they would allow another pureblooded hanger on? I am admittedly jealous of my friends discussing the muggle cinema in front of me and never inviting me along._ **

_I would have to ask him. I have never tagged along, so I can’t speak for if they allow a third wheel. I myself limit my muggle excursions to muggle fashion, books, and food. Their technology is mystifying, and I find myself embarrassed when I try to use it._

**_Isn’t wizbook a version of muggle technology? Surely you could use muggle technology if you tried._ **

_I am sure… but, I had to have a muggleborn friend show me how to use my wizbook. I come from a long family of exclusively witches and wizards, so it was difficult to adapt. I’m not certain I’m ready to add muggle cinema to my list of experiences. Call me a stodgy predjudiced pureblood, but I still prefer the theater._

**_The fact you’re using your wizbook proves you aren’t a stodgy predjudiced pureblood._ **

_Tell that to the opposition._

**_Ha! Surely the opposition isn’t that powerful. You’re a witch of the modern age, fighting opposition doesn’t scare you!_ **

_Ah, there, you’ve landed upon it. My primary flaw of character, fear. Everything scares me. Right now, especially the opposition. My business has opposition, and I am afraid it and I will soon be swept away in a tide of commerce that I’m not strong enough to swim against._

**_I’m a bit of a business man myself. Maybe I can offer some advice?_ **

_I am sure I can use as much advice as I can get. My best friend suggested I seduce the competition._

**_Ah, I probably wouldn’t suggest that._ **

_He’s far out of my league anyways. His status is so far above mine, the mere idea of him going after a mess like myself is laughable. He would be much more the type to be seen with a long legged, chesty blonde on his arm. Her hair would never be out of place, her feet never encased in less than a four inch heel, her attire always the height of fashion, never dirty. No one would whisper about her past as she walked down the street, everyone would look to her as the perfect witch, a lovely sweet English rose._

**_I don’t know, she sounds rather boring. Actually, he sounds rather boring. Maybe you would be better off with a man who is a bit of a dark horse, who doesn’t fall within the rules himself. Someone who fights the constant battle of a desire for adventure conflicting with a desire to lead a simple life._ **

_Are you throwing your hat in the ring? It is admittedly a rather small ring._

**_If you are half as beautiful as your thoughts, I should hope to murder any other wizard even considering entering the ring._ **

Pansy blushed to the roots of her hair. She loved discussing the everyday mundane and sometimes philosophical conversations with Hogsmeade152.

_You flatter me. Surely you are as far out of my league as any wizard with an intelligent head on his shoulders. Fair warning, this is when you should run in the opposite direction._

**_I’ll take my chances. I’ve been known for my bravery a time or two._ **

Pansy grinned to herself and sighed before heading to bed. Surely such a wizard was out of her league. 

Sundays were a day of relaxation for Pansy. The shop was closed and a watering charm she had cleverly devised took care of the plants. She liked to use the day as her own, refusing to focus on business. Instead, she focused on herself. Today, she was going to brave the muggle cinema. She and Hogsmeade152 had discussed that they shouldn’t need anyone else to accompany them to the cinema if they wanted to try it out. They had both decided to head to the muggle cinema and report back to the other on how it went. 

She had chosen her outfit for the cinema carefully. An olive green dress that belted at the waist and hit her at the knees. It was understated and paired with the grey sweater, helped her blend into the background. She slung a grey bag over her shoulder to carry her wand and her money. She’d managed to tame her curls with a large quantity of hair potion, pinning it into a bun at the nape of her neck. Bracing herself, she stepped through the floo to arrive at the Leaky. She had scooped knowledge on muggle cinema theaters from Draco, and knew there were a few in London that were fairly close to the wizarding district.

The movie was good. A romance about two women who switch homes for a winter holiday and fall in love. She wondered what it would be like to switch lives with an American witch and leave all her stigma’s here in England. She paused and looked at a display in a shop window. She enjoyed muggle bookstores. It was a place she could usually find something she hadn’t read, and she was wildly obsessed with muggle literature. She had read everything she could get her hands on at Hogwarts, finding their romance novels much more interesting than their wizarding counterpart. 

Slipping in, she enjoyed the light tinkling above the door. She ought to get a bell for her shop. She paused at a selection of muggle books about flowers. Smiling, she lifted one and opened, thumbing through the pictures of traditional English gardens. 

“I don’t remember you needing help with planning a garden,” came a voice over her shoulder. Startled, she jumped forward and faced the man addressing her. 

“ _You_ ,” she breathed, snapping the book shut and setting it back on the display table. 

“Long time no see, Parkinson,” the man smirked. “Not really something I would expect to see you needing to read up on,” he gestured toward the book.

“I’m always on the lookout for the next trend in gardening,” she answered with a shrug. “What are you doing? Spying on me?”

“What!?” he looked at her with wide eyes. “No… I… I’m just enjoying a day out in London, why would you think I have some sort of nefarious ulterior motive. Isn’t that more your thing?”

“Oh!” scoffed Pansy. “ _Of course_ that would be my thing.”

“Why would I be spying on you?” he laughed.

“Because I am your competition, which you know perfectly well, or you wouldn’t have put up that sign! ‘Opening Bloom!’’

“What are you talking about?”

“Blumen Things, my shop, in Appleby, the one you’re trying to put out of business!” she snapped. 

“Can I at least point out that you don’t own the phrase _Bloom_ ,” he suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“And it’s purely a coincidence that you’ve used it in your signage about your store,” she countered, putting her hands on her hips, wishing she were taller. Unfortunately, her family was better at growing plants than people and the women in her family were all decidedly short. She lacked the intimidating height that pureblooded women like Narcissa Malfoy and Augusta Longbotton had. 

“Look, I don’t do the marketing, I let Dean design all that. He’s the artistic one,” protested Neville Longbottom, running a calloused hand through his hair. “I just thought I would say hi. I didn’t realize you even owned a shop! I didn’t realize I was going to be starting a scene because you are afraid of a little competition.”

“Oh don’t give me that innocent look. Like you didn’t know it was my store when you walked over here,” she let out a fake laugh. 

“Let the record show that I did not, but if I had, you can be sure I would have rushed right over so that I could get the scoop on your little shop for fear you were going to put _me_ out of business,” he snapped, causing her to gasp at the hard clip of his voice. “You probably sell what, three hundred and fifty thousand galleons worth of flowers a year? Mostly garden variety flowers, weddings and funerals of the elite. _Me, a spy, of course._ And my target would of course have to be a florist so small and insignificant that I immediately had to rush around following her on a Sunday on which I have nothing better to do.”

Pansy sputtered, at a loss for words, feeling her hair escaping the pins, and floating about her head in the most unmuggle way, her fingers itching for her wand to curse his handsome face with boils or something equally hideous. 

“Have a _good day_ Parkinson,” he clipped, turning on his heel and leaving the shop, the tinkling of the bell much less friendly to Pansy’s ears this time.

“Mummy, look at that lady’s crazy hair!” came a small voice. A small redhaired child was looking at her with wide brown eyes. Her mother was thankfully absorbed in a romance with a shirtless man on the cover. Looking either way, she gathered herself and sped out of the shop, hoping no one else would notice her gravity defying hair on her way back to the Leaky. 

Back at the Leaky, she sent a glare at the perfectly coifed Hannah Abbot who was manning the bar, her blond curls falling over her ample cleavage in neat ringlets. Of course she would be having a perfect hair day while the rest of the world was forced to suffer from cursed genetics. No wonder the Selwyn family was so opposed to mingling with muggles. 

Throwing some floo powder into the large fireplace, she snarled her shop’s address, already planning what she needed to do to take down the evil that was DandyLions.

_How is it that when some people want to say something, exactly what they want comes out of their mouth, and when I want to say something I either blurt out the worst thing possible, or can’t find a single word at all. My friends find it hilarious that I can never come up with the right comeback at the right time. Do you know how that feels? When you come up with the perfect thing to say only hours later. In school my friends would save them for me for later, using them to great effect. My best friend has always been wonderful at coming up with what to say on the fly. I never manage it. I ran into someone today and couldn’t come up with a single thing to say in return. I wish I was the sort that could._

**_As someone who is usually able to say exactly what I want, I can say it is both a curse and a blessing. I wasn’t always gifted with this dubious talent. I grew into it. Sometimes it gets you into trouble. It is easy to regret what you have said after the words escape you, and once they have been submitted to the world, they often cannot be taken back, no matter how you may wish it. Be glad you think before you speak. Often words hurt more than a stray spell ever could._ **

Take _that_ Neville Longbottom. Pansy was very pleased with the editorial piece that Harriet Bagnold had written about her. A fine piece on the tradition behind her shop, the many years of witches behind it, from two hundred years ago when her great great great-grandmother Gretel Blumen had started the village flower shop as a hobby, passing it to her daughters as an inheritance, defying pureblooded societal norms. Pansy’s great-great grandmother Marigold Blumen-Rosen had passed it to her daughter, Violet Rosen-Selwyn, who had passed it to her daughter, Rose Selwyn-Parkinson, who had passed it to her granddaughter, current proprietress, Pansy Parkinson. The piece had been well received, having been published in the prophet that morning, already customers were pouring in, claiming they had just had to have some fresh flowers after reading about the history of the store in the paper. Pansy considered it a marketing coup d’état.

She decided to take a rare lunch. She left the store in the capable hands of her employee, and strolled down to the tea shop down the way. She ordered a bagel with ham, cheese, and apples, a town favorite, and a warm cup of tea in light of the cooling weather. She sat outside, her fall cloak providing warmth. 

She watched the shop across the street, which was having it’s grand opening today, no coincidence thank you very much. It didn’t seem to be doing very grand business, instead looking rather quiet for a bustling Monday. She hid her smile by taking a sip of her tea. Darjeeling. Very nice.

“Come to gloat?” came a voice from over her shoulder. 

Whipping her head around, she wondered where he had come from. Standing just off the patio, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand was Neville Longbottom. His dark hair was falling across his forehead in that casual devil may care way, a bright red scarf wrapped around his neck, the brown leather coat giving her the illusion of the figure he would have cut in his auror uniform. He looked every bit the classy businessman, and nothing like a puttering gardener. She felt conscious of the dirt under her fingernails and the very casual way she was dressed, a warm but lumpy green sweater and brown slacks to hide the dirt. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sniffed, looking down at her tea.

“I think you do, Parkinson. Clever of you convincing your friend at the prophet to run the piece the same day as our grand opening,” he said, his dark hazel eyes flashing with annoyance.

“Oh, did that run today? I hadn’t realized. I’m more of a Witch Weekly reader,” she hedged, hiding a smirk in her tea. She had always been good at playing the pureblooded princess idiot card.

“No, too late for that, Parkinson. I’ve seen your claws. You should at least take credit. It’s the slowest opening I’ve ever had,” he took a sip of his coffee. She licked her lips and wondered what flavor it was before shaking her head.

“Hmm… well, that’s something,” she said, flicking her eyes across the street to see the shop still devoid of customers despite the brightly colored signage proclaiming it open for business.

“Enjoy it while you can,” he prodded before lifting his cup in an imaginary toast and crossing the street to his shop. She let out a little huff of frustration at his cheery little wave as he closed the door behind him. She lifted her own cup in a toast of her own. Let the games begin.

He was subtle for a Gryffindor, she would give him that. The human interest piece in Witch Weekly about his leftover and spare arrangements being donated weekly to St. Mungo’s was touching. Especially since his parents used to be residents on the closed ward before their miraculous cure and they personally made the deliveries each week. 

She upped her game by finally agreeing to that date with Julius Gearing, the announcer for the Arrows and sitting in the box with him for a match, convincing him to bring up her shop during a lull in the game. 

He ran an All Hallow’s Eve Special, coupon good only at the Appleby store. 

Winter was a notoriously lean time for the flower business, but having a competitor down the street made it much harder. 

Pansy usually enjoyed winter for the lull in business it offered. She had time to work on special projects in her greenhouse, take orders and design gardens which she would spend time installing when spring came. This year though, she felt she had to focus on drilling up Christmas business to keep her head above water. The second the store dipped below profitability, she would be forced to shut the doors. It was one thing for a pureblooded woman to run a profitable business, but it was another for it to be bleeding money. She wasn’t going to shut down after four generations of successful businesswitches. 

She stubbornly hung more twinkle lights in the window, hoping the bright lights would bring in more customers. It had been a long day. She plopped down on her stool behind the counter and opened up her wizbook. 

**I was in Hogsmeade today watching the Hogwarts students visiting the village one last time before Winter break. To be so young and innocent again, planning silly gifts and throwing snowballs in the streets. I watched a couple stand awkwardly outside of Madame Puddifoot’s for seven full minutes before they braved the pink palace. I think that’s the one place in town I successfully avoided my entire time at school. I don’t know if I should consider that a success.**

_If the opinions of my wizard friends are anything to go by, it was a success. I quite like Madame Puddifoot’s. My girlfriends and I love stopping by for a cup of her hot chocolate when we do our Hogsmeade shopping. We haven’t been in a while, but it is to die for. There is definitely undisclosed potion product in that brew._

**_You are convincing me I’ve missed out on one of the joys of Hogwarts. Perhaps I should give Madame P’s a chance. Hot Chocolate is after all one of my very favorite drinks of all time (definitely ahead of pumpkin juice and butterbeer). Dare I suggest it. Do you think we should meet?_ **

Meet? Pansy’s mouth hung open. She looked around the store, almost worried someone might have seen her reaction, but it was as empty as before. 

_I am going to be in Hogsmeade on Thursday to do some holiday shopping. Perhaps we could meet after? Say seven thirty? I will bring a copy of Enchanted Encounters by Fifi LaFolle and use a rose as a bookmark. You can wear one on your lapel and I will know it is you._

Thanks for reading and leave a comment or kudos! Hope you are enjoying this fluffy little piece. Not beta'd all errors are my own


	2. In the Good Old Wintertime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shop around the corner has been remade 2 times after the original Jimmy Stewart Margaret Sullivan version in 1940. I couldn't name a chapter after remake #1 In the Good Old Summertime, but most of this chapter takes place during winter. Enjoy :)

Neville Longbottom was above all a good son. He had been raised not to disappoint. He followed the rules, got good marks in school, fought on the proper side of the war, stood up for what was right. He brought his gran flowers on her birthday and remembered to be on time for weekly tea. He had put in his five years as an Auror after the war until he realized the job bored him to death and gave his grandmother hives. So he quit and spent a good three years traveling the world with Luna searching out exotic plants and earning his masters in herbology. Then he realized so much travel gave him hives, and he quite missed his grandmother, so he returned home. He did the proper thing and used some of his family money to start up a business since he didn’t fancy sitting at home with his recently recovered parents and his grandmother for the rest of his life. His business was successful, so he continued expanding. He was very good at being good. 

Lately though, he wondered if his little spat with Parkinson was getting to his head. Because it was fun having an adversary. No wonder Harry had always been so fixated on his spats with Malfoy. Having a nemesis kept things interesting. And Parkinson was clever, which made it better. It almost made being a business owner exciting enough. Unfortunately, Neville wasn’t sure that he found running a flower empire all that satisfying. Once he established a branch and got it on it’s feet, most of the challenge was gone. Right now, the only thing keeping him from selling the whole business and taking off on another trip to Africa was his feud with Parkinson and his pet project on developing a light tolerant variant of the Epiphyllum magoxyptalum. 

“So you’re worried you’ve been bitten by the travel bug again,” asked Harry as they walked through snowy Hogsmeade. 

“Not so much considering travel, but bored. I already have three shops, I don’t know what comes next,” sighed Nev. 

“Must be tough being good at everything but finding it too dull to stick with it,” Harry ribbed him sarcastically. "You would be head of the department by now if you hadn't left."

“It’s just now… I can’t explain it, but it’s just not… right,” sighed Nev, running his hand through his hair.

“Maybe you’re looking for satisfaction in the wrong places,” suggested Harry. “You haven’t dated since Hannah.”

“It was an experience I don’t care to repeat. Besides… I’ve been busy. And that’s what I needed your help with tonight.”

“I make a terrible wingman, my face is too familiar,” Harry shook his head with regret. "I'm also very married."

“No, not that. Have you ever met someone through writing and it’s like they know your soul better than you do?”

“Neville, we went through this in auror training. This is called a possessed object, and should be disposed of accordingly.”

“No… this is a witch. I met her online. We’ve been exchanging letters,” protested Neville, wanting to laugh at Harry’s constant state of vigillence.

“We haven’t had any possessed wizbooks,” pondered Harry his ever present paranoia coming through.

“No, she’s a witch. She… we started talking innocently enough, strictly academic topics, but things progressed to conversations about our thoughts and opinions, and after a while we got on the subject of romance. Naturally on a very cultural level.”

“Is she pretty?” interjected Harry, always one to cut to the point of things.

“She has such opinions and ideals.”

“So she isn’t very pretty,” concluded Harry.

“I haven’t met her yet. I keep putting it off, and putting it off. I’m meant to meet her at Madame Puddifoot’s tonight at 7:30. Harry, this woman is the most adorable creature I’ve ever come in contact with, and if she even turns out to be as good looking as a post owl, I’d be crazy not to turn my life upside down and marry her.”

“Ahh… she could be a real troll… Well, good luck,” laughed Harry looking at the time and realizing Neville had stalled them right in front of the café and it was just past 7:30.

“Will you please use your auror stealth and go look in the window and look for me. Go to the window and check her out,” begged Neville. “Please.”

“You’re pathetic, man,” chuckled Harry. “Alright, how will I know it’s her?”

“She’ll have a book, with a peony,” confessed Neville. “Do you see her?”

“Alright, oh wait, I see a very beautiful girl. She’s lovely, gorgeous even.”

“I knew it!” exclaimed Neville, the look of relief on his face palpable. “I _knew_ she’d be beautiful.”

“But no book.” Harry threw a smirk over his shoulder.

“You’re an arse, Harry!” chuckled Neville.

“Alright… okay, there’s a book with a flower, that’s got to be her,” Harry said peeping in a second window.

“And what does she look like!?” demanded Neville.

“I can’t see her, there’s someone blocking her…”

“Damn…”

“Okay, he’s moving. Ahh,” Harry paused.

“Can you see her?” Neville insisted, pacing on the sidewalk. “Can you see her?!”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“She’s _very_ pretty,” Harry said after a pause.

“I knew she would be, I knew she would be,” chanted Neville under his breath with relief. 

“I should say, she looks… she has a bit of the coloring of Pansy,” Harry finally put in.

“Pansy, like Pansy Parkinson? From Hogwarts and Blumen’s?” asked Neville, having recently over drinks disclosed his months long feud with the fellow florist. Much to the amusement of Harry and Ron. 

“Now, Nev, you have to admit. Pansy turned out to be a very good looking witch. I know Ron used to make fun of her nose, but she rather grew into it, don’t you think? Didn’t you say the other day you thought she was a good adversary?”

“Well, this is a fine time to talk about Parkinson,” huffed Nev, resuming his pacing. “Who cares about Parkinson? She’s a thorn in my side.”

“Well if you don’t like Pansy Parkinson, I can tell you right now you won’t like this girl,” announced Harry, taking another look in the window.

“Why?” demanded Neville.

“Because it _is_ Pansy Parkinson,” confessed Harry.

“What!?” Neville danced to the window, peeping over the curtain to see Pansy Parkinson smiling up at the waitress before glancing at her watch. He was late. The book on the table was the pre-selected romance. She had a red peony marking her spot. Looking down at the red peony pinned to his lapel, he vanished it with a wave of his wand. 

“That’s it?” asked Harry as Neville turned to walk away. “She could be the love of your life, and you’re just walking away? You’re going to let her sit there and wonder all night?”

“She hates my guts, Potter. Besides, we both know a pureblooded girl like her is so far out of my league anyways. What am I going to say?”

“How is she out of your league?”

“She… first I tell you she is the most perfect witch I’ve ever exchanged words with and now she’s also the most beautiful one as well?” moaned Neville. “Not to mention she hates me. Life isn’t fair.”

“Well, it would be right awful of you to leave her there all night,” put in Harry before looking down at his watch with a look of concern, spinning on his heel, and apparating away. Neville sighed before heading to the door. Harry was right… for once.

“Pansy Parkinson, well isn’t this a coincidence?” he said approaching her table. “Would you mind if I sat down?”

“Yes, yes, I would actually,” she said, eyes widening and moving to block him from taking the empty seat at her table.

“Oh, Enchanted Encounters. One of my grans favorite books. And how ironic since every encounter I’ve had with you recently is nothing short of enchanting.” Neville took a seat as he watched her mouth drop open in what he now realized was an inability to generate an adequate retort. 

“Can I get you something?” asked the waitress, materializing so quickly, she might have apparated.

“No, he was just leaving,” protested Pansy as Neville ordered himself a hot chocolate. “No, no, you are not staying!” she insisted.

“I’ll just sit here until your friend gets here,” Neville decided. He looked at his watch, getting comfortable. “Is he late?”

“Would you _please_ leave, I am expecting someone!” pleaded Pansy, a note of panic in her voice.

“Alright,” Neville stood and vacated the chair, taking his newly arrived hot chocolate with him. He plopped down at the table across the narrow aisle.

“Longbottom,” bemoaned Pansy. “Why are you even in here? This doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”

“You know, I don’t think we’ve ever really gotten the chance to know each other very well,” Neville said conversationally as he sipped the hot chocolate. Damn it, she was right, it was amazing. “I think you’d discover a lot of things if you really knew me.”

“If I really knew you, I know what I would find. Instead of a brave auror, a sad little boy afraid of disappointing his gran; instead of a grand explorer, someone afraid to go after what he really wants so he pretends to go some _where_ ; and instead of a businessman, a spiteful person who would rather crush other people’s dreams than go after his own. Don’t pretend being a florist actually makes you happy. Don’t pretend you enjoy handpicking flowers for a wedding of strangers you don’t care about. Don’t pretend you aren’t using your façade of success to pretend this is what you really want because you think everyone else approves. You haven’t fooled me, so I don’t know how the people who really know you could be fooled either,” she snapped viciously, her hair an electric mess of curls floating about her face like a wild woman. Sitting back in her seat, she gasped.

“What?” asked Neville.

“I’ve just had a breakthrough,” she said with wonderment.

“What’s that?”

“I have you to thank for it. For the first time in my life, when confronted with a horrible, insensitive person, I knew exactly what I wanted to say and I said it!”

“Well, I think you have the gift for it. That was a perfect blend of poetry and meanness,” Neville pronounced with a frown. “And on that note, I’ll take my leave. I hope your friend shows up soon.” He set two galleons on the table and left.

He watched her leave, an hour and a half later, a sad dejected look on her face, her hair no longer gloriously curly and floating about her head, but instead drooping against her neck and shoulders. He watched as she apparated home, unaware of his presence in the alleyway. 

“So, how was it?” asked Giselle breathlessly as she walked into the shop the next morning. The intern was opening the shop daily while she was on Christmas holidays. Pansy had confided in her, Daphne, and Millie this past week. The three were lying in wait in the shop despite the early hour. They had turned one of her display tables into a breakfast nook, and were crowded around it with coffee and croissants.

“He never came,” Pansy stated bluntly, keeping all traces of disappointment from her voice.

“He stood you up?!” gasped Millie, her wide mouth falling open in dismay.

“I wouldn’t say _that_ , I think something happened to him. Something terrible and unexpected that completely prevented him from showing up…” said Pansy moving quickly past the little flock of gossipers toward her office. “What if he showed up, took one look at me and left?” She was unable to hide the insecurity from her voice.

“Not possible!” insisted Giselle. “You’re gorgeous!”

“But, what if he has opinions on what happened during the war?” countered Pansy, her vulnerability about that time coming through.

“Everyone knows you were just a terrified child. Hell, your father was kidnapped four weeks prior from the Hospital to provide healthcare to the death eaters. You didn’t know if he was alive or not! Of course, you would have been terrified to have death eaters and their leader at the school!”

“Maybe he splinched himself…” said Pansy moving away from the uncomfortable past. “Maybe… he was on his way to Hogsmeade and he left part of himself behind!”

“Absolutely!” agreed Millie. “Splinching happens at an increased rate of 42% before an important appointment or event because people are distracted or nervous.”

“He went to apparate and he realized his flower was pinned on the wrong lapel… and he reached out to adjust it just as he was spinning away…” Pansy speculated opening the window for an owl with a large packet of papers.

“And he left behind his hand!” finished Daphne. 

“And you know how long the wait is for splinch repair at Saint Mungo’s,” sighed Millie, the only one of them who had actually ever been splinched. 

“Good Morning!” called Max, arriving with a tinkle of the bell above the door.

“He’s probably still there,” sighed Giselle.

“Poor guy,” commiserated Daphne with a sip of tea.

“What happened?” asked Max with concern.

“He was unable to make it,” Pansy said matter of factly as she flipped through the invoices that had just arrived.

“He stood you up?!” exclaimed Max.

Glaring at her employee, she turned and started flipping through the filing cabinet. “Maybe he had a work emergency. He had to run to the office because an important matter that only he could deal with came up.”

“Yeah, no one has reliable coworkers anymore!” insisted Daphne who worked at the ministry and was constantly complaining about the incompetence in her department.

“And he’s been stuck at work all night, without his wizbook,” said Giselle desperately.

“In a lift!” exclaimed the claustrophobic Millie. Max crossed the room to grab the paper from the owl at the front window.

“Stuck between two floors waiting for the Magical maintenance crew to arrive,” deadpanned Daphne.

“Ohhhh…” gasped Max opening the paper.

“With no wand!” added Millie.

“With no wand!” the four girls chimed together sadly.

“There… Or…” Max was stuttering and waving the paper before slamming it on the counter to reveal the days headline. 

“Alleyway Assassin Apprehended by Aurors!” ran across the front page in large block letters with a blurry picture beneath. 

“What are you saying?” demanded Pansy with her hands on her hips. 

“It could be…” Max said slowly. “Harry Potter himself apprehended him just on the outskirts of Hogsmeade.”

“Why isn’t there a better picture?” asked Daphne reaching for the paper.

“So that explains it,” sighed Millie shaking her head in disgust.

“He was in _jail_!” exclaimed Max, obviously pleased with his detective work.

“You are so lucky!” exclaimed Giselle rushing Pansy and pulling her into a hug.

“You, could, be, **dead** ,” Max said gravely.

“He couldn’t possibly be the _Alleyway Assassin_!” burst out Pansy with a huff.

“Remember when you thought Draco might have murdered Dumbledore?” protested Daphne.

“Well…” Pansy sputtered. “That was different.” She picked up a large potted plant and moved it to another area of the shop where it would get more light. 

“How long did you sit there all alone?” asked Daphne sadly.

“Not long, Neville Longbottom, of all wizards, came in.”

“Neville Longbottom!?” exclaimed Daphne and Millie together.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Pansy decided. “I’ve got plenty of work to do this morning, and I’m sure so do the rest of you.”

The bell above the door tinkled merrily as Astoria rushed into the shop. “Soo…. How did it go?!” she exclaimed with undeniable excitement.

“He was uh… unavoidably detained,” Max said diplomatically glancing down at the paper in his hand.

“He stood you up!?” Astoria announced in dismay. Pansy spun on her heel and stormed into her greenhouse, the door clicking behind her with a locking spell that the gaggle of gossipers in the shop knew better than to try and breach.

On the other side of Appleby, Neville headed into work, he was working at the Appleby branch today. He had taken to working there most days because it was the most likely branch were something exciting would happen regarding his feud with Pansy. Of course he realized now how ironic it was that the two most interesting women in his life, Greenhousewitch and Pansy Parkinson were one in the same. Opening his wizbook he found mail she had sent him early this morning, the time stamp indicating she had either gone to bed very late or awakened very early. He presumed the later considering she was surely at work today.

GreenhouseWitch: _I've been thinking about you. Last night I went to meet you, and you weren't there. I wish I knew why. I felt so foolish. And as I waited, someone else showed up: a man who has made my professional life a misery. And an amazing thing happened. I was able, for the first time in my life to say the exact thing I wanted to say at the exact moment I wanted to say it. And, of course, afterwards, I felt terrible, just as you said I would. I was cruel, and I'm never cruel. And even though I can hardly believe what I said mattered to this man - to him, I am just a bug to be crushed - but what if it did? No matter what he's done to me, there is no excuse for my behavior. Anyway, I so wanted to talk to you. I hope you have a good reason for not being there last night. You don't seem like the kind of person that would do something like that. The odd thing about this form of communication is you're more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many... somethings. So, thanks._

Neville’s eyes burned. He could admit to himself he was more than half in love with GreenhouseWitch, the fact she was in reality Pansy Parkinson would be hard for his heart to accept what his mind already knew. She would never love him back. But, his soft heart couldn’t hold back from responding.

**_I think we’ve had a misunderstanding. I saw you with a gentleman, such a tall handsome wizard. Who is this very attractive young man? He’s just the type women fall for, I thought to myself. So I left. I couldn’t bear to be rejected by such a pretty face as yours. And you are so very very beautiful. I am deeply sorry for having caused you any distress._ **

Sending it off, Neville sat down at his work bench and began reviewing his fertilizer mixes. He was working on one that once perfected would be able to mimic a desert climate on English soil and repel water as to allow for outdoor desert gardens. His calculations needed double checked again before he had it mixed.

The lion roared as the door flung open, letting in a burst of cold air. Looking up, he noted that his new arrival was no other than the woman he had stolen the idea for a bell from. Her winter coat hung from her shoulders to her shins, and a thick green scarf encircled her neck, but her hair was full of snowflakes and floating about her head wildly in opposition to the way it had hung limply the night before. 

“Longbottom! This is all your fault!” she exclaimed. “I wasn’t so wrong when I told you not to sit down at my table last night! You have now not only ruined my business, but also my date!”

“Now Parkinson, if your looks are scaring off your suitors, I’m hardly to blame!” he protested.

“No, he said I was pretty, beautiful even, but he saw you there and thought we were together!” she accused.

“Well, since you’re well out of my league in the looks department, he couldn’t have been farther from the truth,” laughed Neville. 

“Why do you have to turn everything into an insult! Just because you’re tall and handsome and don’t look half as inbred as most pureblooded males doesn’t make you Merlin’s gift to Witches!” she snapped back. “In the future, please have more respect for people’s personal space!”

She stormed back to the door before turning and sagging significantly. “And I’m sorry for what I said about you last night. It wasn’t my place to be so rude.” And she snapped the door shut behind her. Neville tried to remember the mean things Pansy had said as children, but came up with her mostly laughing over Draco’s shoulder. 

Christmas came and went, and Neville noticed that the holiday buzz didn’t thrill him the way it did George Weasley. Sure, he loved growing his plants, but selling them for profit gave him no added pleasure. He wondered if Pansy had been right. That night when she analyzed him.

With the frigid cold, he pretended not to notice that her shop looked less and less busy, even with the Valentine’s day rush pending. It wasn’t until GreenhouseWitch sent him her latest update that he realized just how bad things had gotten for Pansy.

_I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around?_

_People are always telling you that change is a good thing. But all they're really saying is that something you didn't want to happen at all... has happened. My store is closing this week. I own a store, did I ever tell you that? It's a lovely store, and in a week it will revert to my father because it is no longer profitable. My lease on the building was dependent on keeping my figures in the black every quarter. I might have made it if it hadn’t been for a sickness that wiped out my roses right before Valentine’s day. My father will probably turn it into something really depressing, like a law firm. Soon, it'll just be a memory. In fact, someone, some foolish person, will probably think it's a tribute to this town, the way it keeps changing on you, the way you can never count on it, or something. I know because that's the sort of thing I'm always saying. But the truth is... I'm heartbroken. I feel as if a part of me has died, and my grandmother has died all over again, and no one can ever make it right._

**_Change is the hardest part of life. Remember when you left Hogwarts, we thought that change was hard. Or when we went to Hogwarts, left home for the first time. Years from now you will look back on today and remember the difficulty of this time, but you will have adjusted. What are you going to do now?_ **

_Well, if my parents have their way, I’ll be married by midsummer, but I’m going to take a couple months to lick my wounds, and come spring, I think I’ll start looking for something new. In the meantime, I do still have my greenhouse. I’ll focus on that I think._

At least the greenhouse was hers. Even if the small shop she sold everything out of was not. She tried to hold in the tightness in her throat and the heat behind her eyes every time a customer came in that final week and said how much they treasured the roses her grandmother sold them, or the singing tulips she had suggested that still came up in perfect harmony every spring. Clearing everything out that last evening, she had let the tears loose, her nose turning red and puffy, her hair sagging around her neck in a sad puddle of limp curls. 

Setting the last of the plants in her overfull greenhouse, she took deep breaths, leaning against the antique desk she had squeezed under the rose arbor she had at the back of the greenhouse. Looking up at the stars through the blurry panes of the greenhouse glass, she tried to envision the next step Pansy decided to focus on the garden projects she had lined up for spring. She had plenty of work to do to get the plans down for the two witches who had hired her to redo their gardens, and she quite liked projects like these. 

Opening up her wizbook, she powered it up and watched the blue light cast a haunting glow over the dark greenhouse. Despite her despair, she still felt that little leap of joy in her soul when she saw she had mail. From him.

**_Have I ever told you about the day I left the ministry? I was 24. I had been there five years, and I was leaving for the day. I got on a lift with three other ministry employees. Two were good friends and one was someone I didn’t know very well. We were stuck for hours while Magical Maintenance got around to fixing the lift. We were stuck between the sixth and seventh floors. We got to talking about our hopes and dreams. Let me just say there were three other men in that elevator that knew exactly what they wanted, and I wished I was as lucky as them. I went home that night, broke it off with my fiancé who I knew had been cheating on me for months but was afraid to break it off with, and wrote my letter of resignation. One my coworkers came the next day and announced his was engaged, another one was promoted to department head within three months. I ended up in yet another life I didn’t want, but the next time, I wasn’t afraid to change course again. The point is, only you can decide what you want to do with your life. Do what makes you happy. I haven’t found the right path yet, but I am daring to hope I may have found the right person._ **

Pansy smiled.

Hope you liked this chapter. The scene with Harry and Neville is what really made me want to write this one. I picture the sarcastic and funny book Harry rather than the movie Harry who was rather dull.


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